yesterday in my office. And”—he smiled—“there is the small matter of your tardiness this morning.”
“I have a note,” I protested.
“It says nothing about being late here.” He turned the note from my mother over, pretending to look for additional writing.
“You want another note?” I asked dully. This being cooperative was far more exhausting than simply beating his face in.
He tucked his hands behind his back and rocked forward on his toes. “I think a detention would serve nicely as punishment, don’t you?”
An extra hour in this hellhole? “I think you’re full of—”
Alona jabbed me sharply in the ribs, and I flinched. “Buttons,” she hissed.
Brewster watched me with a raised eyebrow.
“Fine, detention. Whatever,” I mumbled.
“Good.” He nodded sharply. “After you.” He pivoted and extended his arm toward the school in a sweeping gesture.
I swallowed back a sigh and started toward the building again. I hated doing anything, though, that seemed like his idea or his request.
“See?” Alona whispered in my ear. “That wasn’t so—”
“Before I forget, Mr. Killian,” Brewster said behind me, “I must compliment you on your … interesting taste in music.”
I froze.
“I expected much more screaming and thrashing about, but Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, and Pachelbel? Not exactly stars of the MTV today.”
First of all, it was MTV2 today. They don’t even play music on MTV, and it’s not “the” MTV. Second, he’d been listening to my iPod? Marcie’s clean white earbuds had been in his crusty old man ear holes?
Clenching my fists, I started to turn. Brewster maybe would get his fondest wish of kicking me out. It would be worth it to hit him just once. To feel his jaw collide with my knuckles and know that the resulting bruise on my hand would be a trophy worth showing off.
Alona was whispering something frantically in my ear. “… Falling right into his trap. God, you’re terrible at this. Don’t you have any self-control?”
“Say something nice,” I said to her automatically.
“What did you say?” Brewster drew up even with me, frowning.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Alona muttered. “Fine. I think you’re doing the right thing, standing up for yourself against a bully, but this is a game and you have to learn to play by the rules if you want to win.”
Technically, I wasn’t sure if that counted as something nice given that she was still criticizing me….
As if reading my thoughts, she continued, in a rather grumpy tone. “Your eyes aren’t nearly as creepy-looking as I first thought they were. They’re kinda … nice.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said.
“What?” Brewster was starting to sound a little annoyed. “Mr. Killian—”
“I said, you said something nice. Thanks for that,” I improvised. It was close enough to what I’d actually said that he probably wouldn’t catch it, and throwing him off his game even just this little bit had dramatically reduced the urge to hit him. Or maybe it wasn’t just throwing Brewster off, but also what Alona had said. “Kinda nice” from the Queen of Put-downs and Dirty Looks was practically a song of praise.
Brewster looked taken aback.
“I’ll burn you a CD if you want,” I offered, just to watch him squirm.
His mouth worked silently for a long moment as he stared at me. Before he could pull himself together enough to lecture me on federal laws regarding unauthorized copying of music, Jesse McGovern’s car sped past us into the parking lot, throwing up bits of gravel and a huge cloud of dust as he spun into one of the last remaining parking spaces.
Brewster’s mouth snapped shut, and he stalked off toward Jesse without another word.
“Not too shabby for a beginner,” Alona observed near my shoulder, the ends of her silky hair brushing my arm.
“Thanks.” I stood still, hoping foolishly that she’d stay close, but she glided away, just as smooth and graceful as she’d been in life. “That was the easy part.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
I pointed to the front doors of the school, where even from this distance, I could see a crowd gathering. A flash of a pink dress, the dull gleam of a mop bucket being pushed toward the front, an early-eighties Afro standing several inches above the heads of the rest … no question who was waiting for me, even if I wasn’t close enough to see their faces.
“Oh, them.” Alona waved her hand dismissively. “I can handle them.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Without being cruel?”
Her shoulders sagged. “But I’m doing a nice thing by helping you out….”
I shook my head. “If you want to risk it …”
She gave an exaggerated sigh. “All right, all right. Keep them away from you and not be mean to them.” She rested her hands on her hips and tossed her hair back. “I mean, how hard can it be? I was elected homecoming queen three times, you know. Winning people over comes naturally to me.”
Right. I should be prepared to run, just in case.
11Alona
“Ready?” Killian asked under his breath as we reached the sidewalk leading to the main doors.
“Sure.” I rolled my eyes. He was acting like we were going to war, or something. Whatever. Unless Killian’s dad showed up all dark, twisted, and shadowy again, in which case all bets were off, they were just people. Dead people, but still. I am a people person. Let’s face it, you can’t win popularity contests — which is pretty much what high school is from orientation to graduation — if you don’t know how to work the crowd.
Speaking of which, the crowd was now headed this way, swarming through the doors — literally walking through the glass and metal, of course — shouting and clamoring for Killian.
“Here we go,” he said under his breath.
The spirits surrounded him, elbowing and shouldering me back out of their way.
“Watch it,” I protested, but I doubted anyone even heard me. The noise was unbelievable. All these voices, yelling and pleading, at once.
“You came back. I told you he would—”
“Never said he wouldn’t.”
“One small favor. Please you have to—”
“My granddaughter needs to know that her mother—”
I realized I could no longer see Killian in the middle of all of them. They’d swallowed him up.
“Hey,” I tried. Shouting at them had worked yesterday. “Hey, dead people.” The girl in the fugly pink polka- dot prom dress tossed me a dirty look over her shoulder, but no one else even seemed to notice me.
This could be a problem.
I must confess, I’m not exactly used to being ignored. So, I may have gone a little overboard.
Ducking my head, I pushed my way through the crowd, ignoring all the grunts of pain and shouts of protest as I stepped on feet and my elbows connected with rib cages. Killian stood dead center, his shoulders hunched and his eyes closed, looking like he was praying for someone to save him. Well, I didn’t know anything about that, but I knew that I would not stand for these loser-y types pushing me around. Killian shouldn’t have either, not when he had something they wanted. He should have been the one in control, for God’s sake, but whatever. He couldn’t take care of himself, so that left me room to do it for him while he helped me. Everybody wins, I guess.
I spun around to face most of them, putting my back against Killian’s. He stiffened for a second before evidently figuring out it was me. “All right, listen up, freaks.”
